Ruth rings Wes when she's sitting outside a small café in an even smaller village. At a time when Harry has walked into the bar in search of some cold drinks. A quick chat she tells herself. Not because she misses him. Anything more than that is written on large piece of paper pinned to the noticeboard in his room, under the heading of honeymoon. As in today - drive to St. Omer. Days two to four - watching the world go by. Days five to twelve - in Paris and the final two days – stopping over for one night on our way home. A list that when she'd been writing it, hadn't prepared her for the reality of actually being back in France and how happy she feels.

'It's mum,' she hears Wes tell either Catherine or Graham. Something that sends another warm glow through her. Before he says,' 'we're on the canal and having a great time,' which does anything but. Memories resurfacing, which despite the passing of time are of ambulances and life support equipment.

'Where are you?' asks her son. Bringing her back from her remembered nightmare and reminding her that it's her who's called him.

'Miles from anywhere,' she tells him. Then because Harry has reappeared carrying two ice cold drinks, says, 'dad's here now if you want to have a chat with him?'

'Catherine says she does. I'll speak to him next time. Love you. Bye mum,' and he's gone.

'Catherine,' says Ruth, still holding the phone. Surprised when she sees Harry's expression change to one of exasperation after a moment or so. Not knowing that having first told him that they're all fine, Catherine is reminding him that he's promised to swop his shorts in favour of wearing a suit and tie. Something that makes him want to say goodbye and leave it at that. But as he well knows, if he doesn't respond positively, will be the subject of the next conversation and the next one after that. And is why he says, 'I know what I said Catherine.'

'What was that all about?' asks Ruth. Having recovered from her brief moment of nostalgia. But not until they're driving along a road with fields of corn on either side as far as the eye can see. Nothing having gone past in either direction for at least ten minutes.

'Having a conversation with Catherine these days always leaves me wondering what she's actually asking me or trying to hint at,' he says.

'In what sense?'

'Telling me that I need to wine and dine you, as if I don't know that, or intend doing so.'

With her sensible hat now back in place Ruth says, 'I know that Harry, but maybe Catherine doesn't. Despite telling me that she's happy for us, and I say this without really knowing her, maybe there's a part of her that wants to remind you what happened after your first wedding? Or dare I say it, when you were in Paris with the witch.'

'But this is completely different and I will never ever cheat on you.'

'I know you won't and I'm sure Catherine does as well. But I still think you need to take some time to talk to her Harry. A proper conversation so that she's not putting her own spin on things. Do what Jo suggested and tell her the truth. Bring her into the family in a way that makes her feel secure. In the same way that Graham is.'

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The Chateau Tyles, they hadn't chosen in the same way that they're going to choose their accommodation for the next few nights. Which is to stop in a village that takes their fancy or when they get tired. Because tonight is in effect their wedding night, upgraded on the grandest of scales. Somewhere that Ruth had been told about by her landlady in Paris. Born on a farm in the area and as was the way in the days when children tended to follow their parents, she'd been one of the exceptions and hadn't stayed at home. Instead moving to Paris after her marriage and had only been back once. That she'd talked about it with such fondness and as often as she had, had led Ruth to conclude that there was some regret involved. And was the prime reason that when Harry had told her that he wanted to take her to Paris, she'd done her research.

That a picture, in this case photos on the internet, can lead to disappointment, doesn't apply here from the moment that they turn in through the main gates. Because the world outside and any worries they might have had, have been replaced by something which is quite magical. A wide drive, not needing a sign to ensure that their visitors drive slowly, is flanked by immaculately trimmed bushes that lead to the carpark. Which at first glance contains no more than a dozen cars. Parking up, they approach the house, with awe in Ruth's case, via wide stone steps that lead to the entrance of what is indisputably a chateau. At which point Harry's takes her arm. Insisting that he'll come back for the luggage later.

Booking in as husband and wife, they follow the concierge up what is a carpeted flight of steps and into their room. Which by choice overlooks the back garden.

Drawn to the window, Ruth waits patiently until she hears the door close.

'Good choice,' says Harry, putting his arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. Both of them caught up, not only in the moment but by the view in front of them. Where a bronze statue of a naked woman is pointing. Designed to take the eye to what is an ornamental lake surrounded by willow trees and to one side what looks to be a kitchen garden. Walled and where a young man toiling in the heat. Pathways which reminded Ruth of Hampton Court in London and make her wonder given its heritage, if perhaps French Royalty has ever stayed here? Thinking that if she demands they throw in a couple of peacocks, that Henry the eighth will come striding across the lawn. Dragging whichever of his wives he's planning to have executed by the hair. As opposed to her Henry who is standing next to her and is - well he's just perfect.

A thought that stays with her and multiplies when, 'I've booked a table for seven,' says Harry, backing into the room having been down to the car. Carrying their small overnight bag and the aforementioned suit and dress. Both lightweight and certainly befitting the occasion. At the same time as she's coming out of the bathroom, having had a shower and is about to put her feet up.

Causing her to say, 'your turn.' Because not only has his jaw disengaged, because she's caught him unawares, but there is a conversation to be had. And what better moment is there than now, if like her he showers and they're both naked.

That they meander, very slowly, is the best way to describe a conversation which starts by Ruth saying, 'I'm pregnant Harry I'm not going to break, you know that.' And ends with them making love.

Having had confirmation and the tests which had followed. All of which have shown that she's fit and healthy, as is their baby. The only problem, keeping it from Wes and by extension Harry's two older children. For the moment when it is less than eight weeks, it's theirs to know they've decided and the idea to have a quiet and relaxing honeymoon is an extension of that. Giving them the opportunity to celebrate in private. To say and do what they want and when they want to do it. Which for the next few hours before dinner sees them lying on the bed and for the most part, slipping in and out of sleep.

Whether Harry, who's made no secret of wanting a girl gets what he wants or Ruth a baby whatever the sex, they don't yet know. Another good reason to have come away when they have. Rather than to clock watch their way through another month until they'll know which it is.

.

Dressed in a way that would have made Catherine smile broadly, the dining room as they are about to find out, is as ornate their bedroom. Which means that not only is the décor tasteful, but the table for two is well spaced from the other diners. Most of whom arrive not long after they do and either nod as they pass by, or ignore them completely. A carbon copy, but on a far grander scale than the restaurant where he'd first taken her out to dinner, not lost on either of them. Or that when Harry orders a bottle of white burgundy, all but one glass of which he's going to drink and over what will be a couple of hours, isn't a coincidence. During an evening which doesn't need to be filled with innuendo from Harry about a Grand Tour that isn't something to do on your own. Or require Ruth to stumble through a reply that gives him the answer he wants without actually says I'll come with you. Because they're there and always have been. Despite their inability to find the right words the first time around.

Two people who are so much in love, that when they go for a walk in the garden afterwards, it's surprising that Malcolm isn't standing by. Summoning a mystical choir to burst into song.

Instead. 'Will you marry me?' asks Harry. Leaning back against one of the trees by the lake and pulling her towards him.

'Certainly not. I'm a married woman,' says Ruth, who unlike Harry is stone cold sober. Before slipping her arms inside his jacket and around his waist. Her safe place. Waiting as she knows he will, for the moment when he kisses her.

Which means that to say that they sleep well is an understatement. To the extent that when they go down to breakfast at nine, where the same table that they'd occupied the previous evening is laid with an assortment of cutlery to match an equally impressive breakfast menu, there is only one other couple in the restaurant.

Where, 'your wife has a beautiful smile,' suggests the woman who having introduced herself as Myriam, launches into a conversation. Only bits of which Harry can understand, but to which Ruth is responding in full.

'Yes, she does,' he says. When he's got his brain engaged and by Ruth's expression suggests his accent is better than he thinks it is. Not that she's biased of course. Whereas he's still feeding off the euphoria of the previous day and evening. Which means that hearing someone who they don't know refer to Ruth as his wife, for whatever reason makes it sound so much better.

Not enough, to stop him from saying, 'excuse me,' and picking up the menu. Because not only is he hungry, but he doesn't want to offend the couple who opposed to them are about to tell them their life story.

Which he's pretty sure, if it doesn't cause one or probably both of them to have a heart attack, will shock them rigid. Especially the previous night's chapter. Which had taken him back to the time when Jayne had been pregnant. Because unlike his first wife who had suffered from morning sickness, mood swings and cravings for food which he can no longer remember and all times of the day and night, Ruth has none of these. Apart from wanting him. Which providing his back doesn't give way, he's quite happy to provide.

Thoughts which aren't useful in a dining room, he realises. Although not in time to prevent a stirring that isn't the cup of coffee he's been looking forward to. Before ordering fresh grapefruit, scrambled eggs on toast for himself and a fruit salad and a croissant for Ruth.

That she eats the toast and him the croissant along with the obligatory cups of tea and coffee, says it all. But at least it helps to calm him down.

Not enough that they don't actually find themselves on the road again until eleven, with a picnic lunch supplied by their previous night's hosts. On what is another warm sunny day but with the aircon and the fact that they're avoiding the busy roads in favour of seeing some more of the countryside leads to a more relaxed second half of the morning. Followed by lunch which consists of a small baguette, cheese and fresh fruit and a large bottle of chilled water.

.

That done and without taking a nap under what is a very large oak tree, as tempting as it is, it isn't long before every signpost at junctions where busy roads and motorways can be accessed via a flyover or an underpass, indicates that Paris isn't a million miles away. Temptation of a different kind looming. One that says, bugger it, how about we abandon the plan. Is staved off by what is Harry's determination to let Ruth absorbed and savour, what he knows for her, is to see just a small part of the country that will always be close to her heart.

In the same way that when they drive on through villages with apple orchards and vineyards. Crossing the river Somme close enough to Amiens for them to see people walking about, makes him just for an instance, think about the untold lives that were lost during the course of two wars. Wars when you knew who your enemy was. Unlike now he thinks. Before he admonishes himself for thinking about Adam and Fiona. Which of course leads him on to thinking about his own children. Or more precisely the new baby, which he hopes will grow up in a more peaceful world. Wes who he knows will be thrilled when they tell him. Hopefully Catherine, as Ruth has suggested will see it as a good reason to stay in the UK and Graham, he likes to think might be tempted to have a child of his own.

Thoughts that stay with him although he keeps them to himself, when they stop for the night in the village of Le Lucien. The war memorial in the square as it is in most French villages, a testament to those whose families had waved goodbye, never to see them again.

That it's almost as quiet a location as their previous night's stop over, isn't by design they're told by the proprietor Fabian. Because in August everyone heads south, including those who inhabit Paris. Something which of course they know and is why they've chosen to come now.

That there aren't ornate gardens or a bed which is so large, that it demands whoever occupies it to have sex, doesn't matter. Because the welcome they received is just as friendly. One that includes them being told that his wife does all the cooking. The ingredients of which are sourced locally.

More than that they don't know, until they're in what is an offshoot of a very large kitchen. Where Lizelle as she introduces herself, in addition to producing a meal that's mouth-watering, by the smell that is guaranteed to send their taste buds into overdrive, is clearly heavily pregnant. Resulting in a conversation that goes on way into the evening. During which time they meet their other two children. Opening the door and then some, enough that it encourages them to tell a family who they've only just met, that they're also expecting a baby. A statement that rather than looking surprised, is rewarded by congratulations and hugs.

Which sees Harry saying, 'how easy was that, when he climbs into bed. Before waiting until he sees Ruth settle down. Then placing his hand where their baby is. Something he's done every night since she told him she was pregnant. Both of them falling asleep within moments.

.

Cock a doodle doo, or the French equivalent, wakes Harry up. That Ruth doesn't hear it so is still asleep, allows him to look at her and imagine how she must have felt waking up alone in villages such as this. Abandoned. Scared. Supposedly dead. All of which are wiped away when she turns over and her hair falls across her face, tickling her nose. Causing her to wake up.

'Bonjour,' she says without opening her eyes. Instinct telling her that he's still there.

'It is?' he asks, in a voice which suggests it's a great deal more than that.

A theme which continues during breakfast, served by the eldest child Alice. That she goes to the local school, enjoys swimming and wants to learn to fly when she gets older, they learn while they're enjoying what are a choice of freshly bought croissants from the bakery and as much fruit as they want to eat. Harry having politely refused to eat anything that will require her to light the stove. Along with the knowledge that his suit and Ruth's dress are similarly inclined. Together on the same hanger in the car. Happy and content.